


all tangled up, no strings attached

by Death_inspiresme



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Angst probably, Both of them are emotionally constipated, Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Peter is barely legal, Refusing to admit feelings, Sexting, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, accidentally falling in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-02-19 00:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13111644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_inspiresme/pseuds/Death_inspiresme
Summary: He can't help but wonder sometimes, how he landed in this situation; a narrative that seemed so distant before now a reality.Or,Tony's pretty sure he's never loved anybody his whole life-- not his fiancée, not his parents; so honestly this whole arrangement should be perfect. Except Peter's nothing like he expected, and then of course feelings get in the way.





	1. intro

**Author's Note:**

> Wew. I first got this prompt three months ago and wrote it as a one-shot, then realised that I wanted to develop it further so I decided to make it a multi-chapter fic. This is seriously overdue and there's nothing else to blame other than school exams and my intense procrastination skills.

  Heavy curtains flap in the gusts of night air, stripes of milky moonlight spilling into the room; illuminating the figure on his bed, colouring pale skin and dark features. The skin under his fingers feel soft, almost warm, shifting with falling breaths and Tony's hopelessly captivated with every movement under his touch.

  A sigh, quiet yet so loud in the dark. Lashes flutter, and his fingers curl back reluctantly as eyes blink open, unfocused and hooded. Ridiculously Tony feels shame, self-conscious at being caught, but then a shy smile plays across thin lips and he instantly feels at ease.

  "Hi," Peter whispers, voice low and sweet.

  "Hey," he mumbles in return, marvelling as the boy shifts himself to the side, hair spilling over the pillows. "I couldn't sleep."

  Propping himself onto his elbows, Peter looks up at him through mussed curls. "What's wrong? Is it... is it the nightmares again?" The sleepy gaze immediately sharpens into worry, and he reaches into the covers to take Tony's hand. The touch is warm, and Tony wraps his fingers around the small palm. "Are you okay?" The boy asks tentatively; but he's not. Tony's not okay, especially not in moments like these, when Peter's looking at him with soft doe-eyes, concern etched so clearly into them, expression open and trusting. It's in these moments that it becomes clearer than ever what's really happening, and it shouldn't be.

  "I'm fine," Tony assures the boy, pressing his mouth to cold knuckles. Peter's lips twitch into a small smile at the kiss, though there's still a hidden look in his eyes that Tony doesn't want to see. He can hear the question, heavy in the air, already poised on the other's lips: _'are you sure?'_ So he grips the wrist tighter, pulling Peter across the sheets closer to him. The boy makes a noise of surprise that quickly turns into a sigh as Tony licks up the pale column of his neck, mouthing at the indent of a collarbone. "Relax," he whispers, feeling Peter shiver at his breath, repeats almost mindlessly into the crook of his neck, "I'm okay. I'm alright."

  The words taste like bitter lies, but it works-- and just like that the moment's over, and the atmosphere changes to something much more familiar; Tony kissing down his chest, the boy slinging an arm over his shoulders to pull him closer. Later on he presses Peter into the mattress and wraps a hand around both of them as the boy writhes under him, teeth biting on smooth skin and moans filling the dark; and it's so easy to forget then, to just close his eyes and allow himself to drown in the sensations and sounds echoing off the walls of his room. Peter falls asleep soon after that, legs tangled amongst silk sheets and arms wound tightly around him. Tony holds him close, feeling every rise and fall of rhythmic breaths; eyes intent on the already darkening marks blooming across pale skin, until his lids finally feel heavy.

 

  It shouldn't mean anything, but the boy never fails to help him sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's really short, more to come soon. This is just the beginning.


	2. and so it goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is!

  "Can I take you somewhere tonight?"

  Peter looks across at him from his sprawling position on the couch, long limbs stretched enticingly over the cushions. There's a textbook in his hands, handwritten notes all over his lap-- Tony catches glimpses of carefully scribbled formulas before the boy notices his gaze, flipping the notebook shut and moving it to the side.

  "Where?"

  Tony shrugs. "Just a fancy restaurant or something." Peter pushes himself off the couch, sauntering over to him and slinging his legs over the side of his armchair. Absent-mindedly Tony stabilizes him with a grip on his waist, running a thumb slowly down his side. "It's been a while since I brought you out for dinner."

  "That sounds nice," Peter says, but there's a hint of apprehension in his voice that makes Tony look at him. The boy meets his gaze with a doubtful one, hesitates before adding, "It...it's a school night, though."

  Tony swallows. The mention of school-- or anything regarding Peter's extreme youth, really-- has always been a touchy topic for the both of them, something they don't bring up as much as possible. Peter stares at him now, obviously gauging his reaction, so Tony shoves the thoughts away, instead simply responds by pulling the boy onto his lap and forcing a smile.

  "I promise I'll get you home in time," he says, hands sliding underneath Peter's shirt, fingers running over ribs and making the other boy giggle. "Just-- let me take you out for dinner. Please?"

  One of those smiles, bright eyes crinkling at the sides, that makes his heart flutter. "Yes, okay. I'd love that."

  
  Admittedly, Tony did go a tad overboard, but who can blame him? That's the point of all of this, isn't it? The joyful laughter as Peter buckles himself in, eyes sparkling with excitement, Tony settling in beside him and taking his hand.

  "I can't believe you," Peter says breathlessly, turning to look at him; strong gusts of wind whipping through his hair, tangled curls falling into his eyes.

  "What's the point of owning a helicopter if I don't use it?" As they lift off the boy gives a peal of child-like laughter, gazing out the window at the dark sky above blinking city lights; and Tony can't stop himself from leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek-- it doesn't mean anything, of course.

  
  Dinner turns out later to be at a restaurant near the beach, Peter huddled close beside him, head resting on Tony's shoulder. He can feel the weight of pointed stares on him, hushed whispers from the other table, the other patrons looking upon them with cold, narrowed eyes at the pretty boy nuzzling into his neck-- and Tony ignores it all, leaning back against the seat, a firm grip on Peter's waist.

  "Can I try?" Tony looks down at Peter, who's already reaching for the cold glass of Scotch cradled between his fingers. Instinctively he stretches his arm away, ice cubes clinking and amber liquid sloshing over the lip; some spills over his hand.

  "No, you cannot," he says plainly, as the kid pouts defiantly at him. "It's alcohol."

  All he receives in return is a roll of eyes; which, he notices, is something the boy's been doing quite often lately. "Yes, I know what whiskey is, Tony," Peter sighs. "I'm sixteen, not six."  
  
  Tony gives him a tight smile at that, and before he can react Peter's grabbing his arm and pulling it closer. A warning is on the tip of his tongue as the younger deftly plucks the glass out of his grip, but it quickly dies as Peter licks the rim of it, pink tongue running across the cold surface to catch stray drops from the spill. He hums softly in appreciation, grinning up at Tony before offering the glass back to him.

  "A little taste won't hurt," Peter says, teeth catching on his bottom lip, hazel eyes glinting coyingly; as if daring him to make a move-- and of course Tony does.

  
  They end up abandoning their food at the table, stumbling blindly into the washroom. Heavy stares burn into Tony's back, and his last rational thought is that he should have just rented the whole restaurant for the night. Then his fingers fumble on the lock of the door, and Peter's pulling him forward by his tie, the boy already breathless as they collide into a rough kiss, panting into each other's mouths.

  Peter's still as eager as their first few encounters, all eager touches and youthful enthusiasm as he hoists himself onto the edge of the sink. Hastily undone slacks, shoes kicked into a corner, hands running over bare skin-- all so familiar, so comforting. Tony fucks him right there against the counter, hands gripping onto the cold marbled edge; Peter hooking his legs around his waist with practiced ease and flexibility that never ceases to amaze him. It's messy, every hard thrust of his hips sliding the boy across the smooth surface and bumping their heads together, but it's also shared breaths and warm hungry touches full of longing.

  A particularly rough thrust sends Tony's hips snapping forward almost brutally, driving his teeth into the already bruised skin on Peter's neck and wrenching a sharp cry from the younger boy, who throws his head back to bare his throat. This angle allows the man to stare at his own reflection in the polished mirror of the sink, allows him to take in his flushed skin and wild eyes, realise just how _hard_ he's fucking the kid-- and it tips him over the edge, growling low in his throat as he spills himself into the lithe body under his.

  Peter comes soon after with a weak sob, bony ankles wrapping around Tony's waist to keep him close as they fall apart. They stay that way until the man's wrists ache, and when Tony pulls away his palms sting sharply from how hard he had gripped the counter. He leans over, grabs a roll of tissue for Peter, the boy still clearly dazed and catching his breath. The air between them is heavy now, an abrupt change from just a few minutes ago as Peter wipes away their mess from himself, Tony pulling on his crinkled shirt.

  "D'you think they heard us?" Peter finally says, just as Tony finishes fastening his belt.  
  
  "After the way you screamed just now? No doubt about it." Dark eyes take in the boy's mussed appearance, the pattern of reds and purples blooming across pale skin, harshly bitten lips. "You've got to learn to be more discrete, Parker."  
  
  Peter rolls his eyes. "That's a bit rich coming from you, don't you think? Your hands were all over me out there."

  "That's your fault for being so irresistible."

  Peter pouts, reaching out to playfully shove the older man's shoulder, but Tony reflexively grips his wrists, entangles their fingers together to pull Peter closer; leans down to whisper in the boy's ear, "Don't pretend you weren't asking for it, darling. Practically begging for me to take you right there on our table--"

  "Right in front of everyone?" Peter interjects, a slight tremor in his voice that shouldn't sound as _delicious_ as it is. Voice dipping low, Tony asks,

  "Yes, right in front of everyone. Will you like that, baby?"

  The boy doesn't reply, though his face flushes a pretty pink at his words-- and that's enough of an answer to Tony.

  
  They walk out of the restroom together, Tony's arm slung lazily over the boy's shoulder, swirling patterns into his dark suit. Faintly he notices that his shirt is untucked in the front, and that an extravagantly dressed woman seated nearby is staring at them disapprovingly, sharp eyes darting to Peter's wildly tussled hair. Tony doesn't care, of course. They can stare all they want; he's paid for their silence, after all. A man leans back against his seat, legs crossed, peering purposefully at them over the rim of his glass.

  ln another timeline, a timeline before all of this, Peter Parker would have shied away from all the pointed looks, but now the boy merely presses closer to his side, lips curling into an easy smile-- and Tony can't help it, can't help the little flutter of his heart, the bitter guilt and conflict rising up like bile.

  It'll go away eventually. These feelings always do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed, comments are always appreciated!


	3. pendulum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi. I'm back. Life's been pretty angsty lately and so is this chapter. Hope you like it I wrote half of this high off prescription drugs

   Peter slowly zips up his backpack, fingers running over the attached keychain that reads ' _Midtown High pride_ ' in blue blocky letters. Wrist heavily draped over the steering wheel, aviators on, Tony watches him from the driver's side.

  They're in the back alley of Peter's apartment; warm glow from the overhead flickering lamp posts spilling into the windows of Tony's Audi 2000. Inside May's awaiting her nephew's return from his week long internship at Stark Industries-- setting the small table for two, plating the dinner she had specially cooked; as she had told Peter excitedly over the phone, "it's your favourite, dear."

  To which Peter had replied with a word of thanks, voice still hoarse from sucking Tony off only a couple minutes ago-- pretty pink lips wrapped around the older man's cock, knees digging into the velvety carpet; tears catching on long lashes as Tony pulls at the wild curls of hair, muttering soft praises as he thrusts into that warm wet heat of the boy's mouth.

  
  "Tony," Peter says. He's wearing a mottled-grey sweater, the collar pulled up almost to his chin; covering the litter of purple-brown bruises all over his neck. Tony wishes he can see them one more time before the boy leaves. Peter stares at him, unspoken words hanging in the air; hand resting on the handle of the car door.

  When did saying goodbye become so awkward?

  "Wait a second." Reaching into the back seat, Tony grabs the small parcel nestled carefully in between cushions, drops it in Peter's lap. The kid blinks down at it uncomprehendingly, and Tony adds, "Open it. It's a gift."

  Peter looks at him with huge eyes, glassy in the dim light; almost hesitantly he tugs at the ribbon, unravels it from the box. Lifting the cover, the boy peers inside, then looks up at Tony.

  "A watch?" Peter says. "You didn't have to. You already got me one, remember? I love it."

  Tony rolls his eyes. "There's something called a  _collection_ , sweetheart. Besides," he adds, leaning over to tap at the parcel, "this isn't just any watch. It's a Cellini Moonphase model."

  "What? What's that even mean? Tony, I can't take this. Thank you, really, but it's too much--" Peter says quickly, hurriedly shoving the box to Tony's lap.

  "It's not too much. It's just a Rolex."

  "A _what?!"_

  "Oh, it's a watch brand. Their pieces are excellent--"

  "I know what it is," Peter interrupts. "I mean, you can't--you can't just _give_ me a Rolex."

  "Well, I just did," Tony scoffs, removing the watch from its case and taking Peter's right arm, despite the boy's protests. Gently fastening the leather strap around Peter's wrist, Tony leans back and smiles proudly. "There-- it looks lovely on you; just as I imagined. I'm seriously good at picking out watches."

  A soft smile tugs on Peter's lips as the older man continues admiring the watch, clearly pleased with himself. "It really is beautiful," he concedes.

  "Of course it is. Only the best for you, dear." Wrapping both his hands around Peter's, Tony runs a finger across the inside of his wrist, gives him a tiny squeeze. "Will you just take it? Please? I want you to have it. You can wear it the next time we go out for dinner."

  That's all it takes. Peter beams at him, throwing both arms around Tony's shoulders, nuzzling into his neck. "Yes, of course I'll take it; I love it. Thank you, Tony."

  
  He sends the boy off with a final kiss and a playful tug of those curled tufts of hair, and the promise of calling soon.

  
  
  Returning home's always the same. Parking the car in the garage, trudging up to the doorstep; pushing open the door-- milky moonlight spilling into the darkness inside.

  She's on the couch, a stack of papers on her lap. They're strewn messily all over the floor as well, and Tony winces as he steps on a stray paper clip. It's become a sick routine, the both of them tiptoeing around each other, treading on eggshells; glimpses of each other before they head into their separate rooms. The house is colder and emptier than ever, walls barren of photographs, dust collecting on the custom ornate dining table, the hickory cabinets-- Pepper had stopped hiring all those cleaning services, stopped inviting her friends over long before the both of them fell apart.

  The door quietly clicks shut behind him, cutting off the cool breeze and lengthening the shadows inside; the figure on the cushions remains still. He swallows, flicks on the light switch. The room pools in a soft white glow. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and in those few seconds Pepper is on her feet, papers on her lap slipping off. She's staring directly at him, which is so shocking it's a while before Tony finally registers that she's a little drunk; there's one half-filled glass of wine on the table, another emptied one teetering dangerously over the edge. "Are you alright?"

  "You're back," she says. Her hair's tied back messily, spilling over her red-tipped ears. The top of her silk blouse is unbuttoned, revealing her neck and the faint indentation of teeth marks there. Tony's gaze flicks away. "That's early."

  He doesn't know what to say to that. Chilly silence falls upon them. It used to be so easy, for the both of them to attempt normalcy; to play the respective roles of a married couple. Happily married. In love, even. Close-lipped, albeit forced, smiles when they come home to each other, small conversation over the dining table-- discussing garden layouts as if all the plants there haven't withered and died a long time ago.

  Now they only catch glimpses of each other around their house.

  Tony looks up. Pepper's still staring at him, arms crossed over her chest in a defensive stance. She's got lipstick on, and it's smudged over her mouth, a smear of blossom red on her chin. The air is tense, still.

  "Is he..." Tony pauses. "Is--"

  "Gone," Pepper replies crisply, then spits almost as if like an afterthought, "he brought me out for dinner. I invited him in, served some wine."

  He nods stiffly. "Right."

  This is the most they've ever talked in weeks. Pepper holds him in a hard gaze. _And where have **you** been?_ The words hang in the dead air between them. _Stop pretending. There's no point._ She wobbles on her feet, then turns to pick up the wine glasses, and it's clear that the conversation is over.

 

  His bedroom door has barely slammed shut, lock clicking in place, when Tony collapses on the edge of his bed; tugging off his coat. His fingers shake as they undo the buttons.

  _Don't think. Don't._

  Dropping his head in his hands, he presses cold palms to his forehead. Everything's blurry, grey, and as he takes in a shuddering breath his lungs refuse to cooperate. 

  There's nothing to be upset over. This is irrational. 

  His phone buzzes in his pocket. It's a text from Peter.

 **Peter:** 'Hey.  _You home?'_

   Yes. But he doesn't want to be. 

 **Tony:** ' _Yup. How was dinner?'_

 **Peter:** ' _good'_  
**Peter:** ' _thanks for bringing me home, btw'_

 **Tony:** ' _no problemo.'_

 **Peter:** ' _also, the gift.This watch looks freaking beautiful, Tony.'_

 **Tony:** ' _'course it's beautiful, your old man picked it out. Your point?'_

 **Peter:** ' _my point is that it's also freaking expensive, and I can't accept it.'_

Tony rolls his eyes, scoffing. 

 **Tony:** ' _no returns, buddy.'_

 **Peter:** ' _How much was it?'_

 **Tony:** _'why is it always so difficult for you to just take these gifts? I want you to have these things, dammit.'_

 **Peter:** ' _well, why do you keep giving me these gifts?'_

What part of this does the kid not understand? His fingers fly across the screen. 

 **Tony:** _'because I'm your sugar daddy??? As far as my knowledge goes, how this works is that I give you stuff. You know that, right?'_

There's no reply for nearly a full minute. Tony bites his lip, glancing over their conversation. Did he come off too hostile? God, he hoped not. A wave of guilt crashes into him, turns his stomach. 

    _That's the problem,_ a hollow voice in his head hisses. _He won't know, will he? He's only sixteen._

The phone chimes. 

 **Peter:** ' _right. Okay, I'll keep it. Jeez.'_

   A sigh of relief escapes Tony. 

 **Tony:** _'Great. I'm going to brush my teeth, okay? You should sleep soon. It's late.'_

   He tosses his phone on his bedside table, heads to the bathroom. In the fogged up mirror of the sink he catches a glimpse of a distorted reflection. The splashes of ice-cold water sharpens the edges of his vision. He brushes his teeth so hard the foam he spits out when he's done is red with blood. 

  Just as Tony's climbing into bed, a new message lights up the screen. It's a six-minute long video, along with a text that reads ' _here you go.'_ Witha heavy exhale, he presses play. 

  It's Peter in his bedroom, lights turned down low and curtains drifting in the slight wind. It's all so comforting, so soothing that it takes a moment before Tony fully registers the whole scene. 

  Peter's naked, writhing on his mattress, bare legs tangling in navy blue sheets. The camera's angled to show everything, from the boy's open, panting mouth to his fingers buried knuckle deep inside his ass. 

  "Fuck," Tony curses in surprise, the noise echoing through his dark bedroom. Thank god for huge houses. 

  The boy moans then, drawing his attention back to the video-- sweet whimpers crackling though the speakers of his phone. Tony turns the volume down, sinking back into the pillows, watching Peter gets himself off.

  The way the boy does it is elegant, almost like acting a performance, the way his body twists so beautifully; rolling onto his back, sharp hipbones jutting as he arches off the bed, little toes curling into the blankets, chest rising and falling with laboured breaths.

  A hand slips understand the covers, wraps around his half-hard cock. Tony hisses, pressing his thumb to the head, precome already beading around the slit. Those honey liquid eyes, the way Peter moves with undeniable youth and inexperience-- it never fails to drive him crazy. Coils the burning heat in his belly until it snaps. 

  Peter dips out of frame for a moment, soon returning with a bottle of lube and a sleek black dildo, the first one Tony had gifted him. The teen barely slicks it up before hurriedly pushing it into himself, legs splayed apart in a most perverse manner to show the thick girth entering him, sliding almost all the way in. Audible gasps fall from red-bitten lips, mingling with cries of Tony's name. 

  Fingers gripping tightly around his cock, Tony jerks himself in tune to the other's desperate thrusts, Peter beginning to fuck himself desperately with the toy. He watches with hooded eyes as the boy's wrist shifts and the angle changes, dragging a timid squeak from him. " _Ah_ , shit, yes--!"

  A hand flies up to twist a dusty pink nipple, pinch and roll it between deft fingers and god, Tony wants to suck them so badly right now. Press kisses down that flushed chest, across the little bumps of those ribs, hold that small body down and _pound_ until--

  Peter whimpers his release, Tony's name falling from his lips like a mantra. He watches as the boy slumps blissfully against his bed, catching his breath, before dragging a hand through the sticky mess on his taut stomach and sticking his wet fingers into his mouth.

  Tony comes into his palm then with a growl, as Peter looks directly into the camera, pink lips wrapped around his own digits.

  This boy will be the death of him.

  Panting, he cleans himself up with a box of tissues, then flops bonelessly against his mattress, fingers flying across the screen of his phone.

 **Tony:**  ' _Shit, baby. Isn't your aunt home?'_

  Peter responses almost immediately.

 **Peter:** ' _she's asleep.'_  
**Peter:** ' _also, ew. Don't bring her up now'_

   He laughs tiredly. 

 **Peter:** ' _did u like it?'_

 **Tony:** ' _well I just came pretty hard all over myself just now, so you tell me, sweetheart'_

 **Peter:** _'it felt so good. Imagined you fucking me right here on my bed. You'd fuck me so good.'_

 **Tony:** ' _Jesus, kid.'_

 **Peter:** ' _I don't think Jesus will approve of this.'_

 **Tony:** ' _very funny_. _What was all that for? Not that I didn't appreciate it, of course'_

 **Peter:** ' _what, I can't get off? I'm a teenage boy, I'm horny all the time. Anyways I'm gonna get ready for bed now. G'night, thanks for the gift.'_

 

   Tony shoves his phone into the bedside drawer, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach as he runs the boy's last text through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any of you were wondering yes the watch is real, I did my research. It's $35,980. Tony's very extra


End file.
